


Stemming the Rose

by LustOnMyFingers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Analingus, Cunnilingus, F/M, Featuring practicalities, Fellatio, It's been so long since I posted something that I forgot how to use Ao3, Just another ridiculous dragonstone au, Oral Sex, PWP, Please expect this shit to be OOC, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, The ass eating that was promised, kinkfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-27 00:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18292895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/pseuds/LustOnMyFingers
Summary: When Daenerys Targaryen meets the King in the North, the attraction is instant and undeniable. Rather than ignore the fire between them, the two willful rulers embrace it. However, the last thing Jon Snow ever wanted was to father a bastard. So when the Mother of Dragons seduces him, he suggests an unconventional solution to their dilemma.





	Stemming the Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mazzeroo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazzeroo/gifts).



> ***Warning*** : For those of you unfamiliar with the euphemism that is this fic title, it means Jon's going to stick it in Dany's butt. If that's not your thing, well, you might want to skip this one. Though I wrote it as tastefully as I could, this one is intended for the freaks...
> 
> Like [Mazzeroo!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazzeroo/pseuds/Mazzeroo) Happy birthday, girl! ♥ I'm your [creepy casual Tumblr anon](https://mmazzeroo.tumblr.com/post/183695555744/hypothetically-how-creepy-do-you-suppose-it)! _*wink*_ Allow me to admit just how much of a creep I am: I had some discussions back in December with your Secret Santa, which is how I came to know that you like things that rhyme with 'banal' (lmfao) Since I was super jealous he got to write it for you, dammit, I'm writing you a damned fic, too! Hopefully I wasn't *totally* off base, here, lol. Errr... >.>
> 
>  _*Lesser warning*_ : It's a Dragonstone AU, so some dialogue will be repetitious. _*shrug*_
> 
> (Oh, and no, I'm not dead. To any readers rolling their eyes at the audacity of _another_ one-shot rather than an update to one of my ongoing fics—I'm releasing a chapter of the King's Servant within the next 24 hours. I swear. It's beta'd and everything! And after that, Dating in the Dark. Please don't hurt me!)

 

 

* * *

 

 

With her troops already on their way south, the queen would set off in the morning, flying just behind them atop her dragon. The voice in the back of her mind nagged its doubt, riling her anxiety.

 

There was a slim chance of sleep taking her. And so she decided to let him take her instead.

 

Daenerys knew where to find him, and when.

 

The northerner had been startled to happen upon her in the corridor, alone and completely unguarded. He was covered in dragonglass soot and sweat that glinted in the sconce light—the same that lit the path straight to his quarters.

 

Though his features were masked with shadows, she could tell his surprise had shifted to desire—confirming her suspicion that the heat felt between them inside the cave had little to do with the torch.

 

Hoping to convey her intent with just her eyes, Dany held his gaze. At least until it wandered down her body, carefully examining her silk dress, perhaps taking mental notes on how best to remove it.

 

 _Good_.

 

She let him get his fill. Then, after a slow blink, Daenerys passed in front of him, leading the way to his door. Each step she took was exaggerated, giving just a taste of what she could do with her hips.

 

After the short jaunt, she flattened a palm against the wood as Jon fished a key from his pocket. The king blindly fumbled with the lock, lips hanging open and eyes hanging on her chest.

 

Once unlocked, he stepped aside to permit her entry, letting go of a sigh before following shortly thereafter.

 

.  .  .

 

The next time she saw Jon was on the cliffside from above, looking rather like a fisherman's wife pining for her husband's return. The mere sight of him sent tingles down her spine. _Just how long has he been there waiting?_ she wondered. Fresh memories of their first and only night together stirred, her skin streaked with soot and a head of wild, unbound curls bobbing between her thighs.

 

She sighed, clenching Drogon's spikes harder as he swooped in for a landing. Her son hit the ground running in a venture to investigate her new... _suitor_. At least, she supposed that's what Jon was to her, now.

 

The king hadn't so much as flinched as Drogon excitedly greeted him, showing off with an ear-splitting screech just feet from his face. Fear had gripped her as the pair studied one another, finally releasing its hold on her heart when her son moved his enormous head aside to reveal that the king had been... petting his snout. _Curious_.

 

Almost laughing in relief, she allowed them their moment of bonding before dismounting to face the man who hadn't left her thoughts since before her trip to the Blackwater Rush. After cooing his approval, Drogon flew away, giving them privacy.

 

Set against the landscape, with wind whipping at his hair and cloak—the king was a sight to behold. Who knew he had been smuggling a perfectly chiseled body underneath all of that unflattering boiled leather. Even his collection of what she would've guessed were _lethal_ scars couldn't detract from his allure.

 

Though Jon Snow knew his way around her body as if he'd designed it, himself, he'd proven to be a rather ghastly flirt. Being as it was his only discernible flaw besides his stubbornness—a trait she couldn't quite fault him for—she found it acceptable.

 

Worse, endearing.

 

She flashed a sultry smile before turning her head and setting her eyes on the sky.

 

"They're beautiful, aren't they?"

 

"Wasn't the word I was thinkin' of, but..."

 

The smile fell from her face. She turned to him, incredulous—she'd set him up with the perfect opportunity to pay her a simple compliment. Had he ignored it on purpose? Or was he just oblivious?

 

"But yes, they are. Gorgeous beasts."

 

"They're not beasts to me. No matter how big they get, how terrifying to everyone else," she declared. "They're my children."

 

As she began to admire the three dragons dancing on the horizon, Jon spoke up—eager to learn the results of her battle. Conversation flowed about as easily as water in a stony brook, the pair almost immediately butting heads over her most recent victory.

 

A few moments into wandering the cliffside, she finally got Jon to crack a smile. Just as the pair fell into a bout of playful banter, several of her bloodriders approached. The sudden arrival of an old friend had stirred the dormant wolf inside the king—his glare doing very little to hide their recent dalliance.

 

After she asked her men to show Jorah Mormont to his own quarters, Jon excused himself, too, leaving the queen alone. She couldn't help but wonder whether she'd made a grave misstep in ever taking him to bed.

 

.  .  .

 

Upon request that her old bear brush up and join the upcoming small council meeting, it was pushed back to the early evening—allowing the queen an opportunity to wash away the stench of war with a scalding bath.

 

Once gathered together, the topic of discussion was chosen for them when a raven arrived for the king. Somehow, he'd even brooded through news that two of his beloved siblings were, in fact, alive. This ' _Night King_ ' that Jon had warned of, had been seen advancing toward the Wall by his younger brother, shaking him to his very core.

 

After a bit of debate, her Hand had suggested an absurd mission to bring the dead to the usurper queen to prove their existence. When Jorah offered to go north on this fetch quest, the wolf she'd met in his chamber had returned—Jon valiantly stepped in to seize the opportunity, himself.

 

"I haven't given you permission to leave," Daenerys announced. The fear of his absence turning her stubborn.

 

Just as rigid, the king turned to meet her eyes. "With respect, Your Grace, I don't need permission," he challenged. "I am a king."

 

In an instant, her heart had shattered.

 

All throughout his following speech, Dany focused her concentration on staying as stone-faced as she could manage.

 

"Now I'm askin' you to trust in a stranger," Jon pleaded, dejection apparent in those large, dark eyes of his. "Because it's our best chance."

 

Dany looked to Tyrion, foolishly hoping he'd do right by her and agree it was best for the King in the North to stay on Dragonstone.

 

But it wasn't Tyrion who had gone and fallen in love.

 

It was her.

 

And she knew she had to let him go.

 

.  .  .

 

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon when the already _small_ small council meeting grew smaller, yet.

 

The king hadn't budged from his seat, despite offering little in the way of advice regarding their Hands' foray into King's Landing—choosing to brood silently, instead. Jon had even somehow endured the boredom of their reminiscing about people and places he'd never heard of, shifting uncomfortably every time her old bear made her laugh.

 

He stood and began to pace the length of the Painted Table, his nervous energy bleeding onto both her _and_ her loyal knight.

 

Jorah feigned a yawn, though disappointment was clear on his face. "It's been a long journey, Khaleesi."

 

"Sleep well, Ser Jorah," she smiled.

 

After a bow and a pointed glare at Jon, her old bear excused himself.

 

Still feeling slighted, Daenerys rose from her seat and started toward the door.

 

"Dany."

 

She whirled around, startled to hear a name she hadn't heard since—

 

A sudden, searing kiss wiped all thought from her mind.

 

.  .  .

 

The queen came to, hazy and tangled in sheets. Daenerys couldn't pinpoint the culprit that'd finally woken her—the sunlight creeping over her face or the pair of hands gently prying her legs apart.

 

"What are you doing down there?"

 

"Breakin' my fast."

 

The cheeky comment made her chuckle—until her body twisted at the sudden heat of his mouth, already setting to work on her thighs.

 

With great pleasure, she watched him maneuver under the thin, dark fabric that clung to his every muscle. Dany threw her head back, enduring each flick of a tongue along the crease of her thighs, each nip at her lower lips before he latched right onto her cunt and sucked her in.

 

Without thinking, her hands dove under the sheets and into his hair, her fingers twisting in the knotted mess as he diligently tongued her. She pulled him closer by his hair and began riding his face. Jon groaned in approval as she rocked her hips and pushed him deep inside, rubbing her clit against the tip of his nose—her cries growing in desperation. He clutched her waist, his nails digging into her and his beard scoring her skin.

 

Opening her eyes just as she began to shake, she watched him grind against the mattress, rolling his hips in a way that left her cunt clenching for something to grip.

 

He finally relented when she physically pushed him away, unable to bear another moment. She'd fallen asleep the same way she'd woken up—to his mouth. Daenerys had never experienced so much direct attention to her vulva, but it was an adjustment she was happy to make.

 

Jon slithered up her body, planting kisses all along his path. Through half-lidded eyes, Dany examined him, squeezing either cheek in one hand and squishing his stubborn face.

 

"I don't mean to discourage that pretty mouth of yours, my lord," she teased. "But you can take more."

 

"More?" he asked, leaning in for a wet kiss, coating her lips in her own arousal.

 

Dany's small hand slipped between their bodies, surprised to find he was still wearing his trousers.

 

" _More_ ," she insisted, tugging at his waistband.

 

It was no longer about granting him permission. He'd given her an ache deep inside that even his skillful tongue alone couldn't soothe.

 

With a rather dismissive smirk, Jon caught her wrist between his fingers, pinning it to the mattress before climbing off of her and reaching for his shirt.

 

"Jon?"

 

Dany propped herself up on her elbows to watch as he turned the garment rightside in, preparing it to go back over his head.

 

Without even taking anything for himself, he was done? It was then she realized that each time she'd gotten the stubborn king behind closed doors, he never quite matched her state of total undress. She'd seen his scars, but nothing at all below his belt. Every time she'd attempted to disrobe him, he'd distract her with that mouth of his.

 

"My lord..."

 

"Your Grace."

 

Gracelessly, Dany maneuvered onto her knees, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, dragging lazy lips along the tensed column of his neck. Little by little, his reluctance evaporated as he leaned into her embrace, letting his shirt slip through his fingers. It was only after her hands roamed over the scarred landscape of his chest, straight down to the taut fabric at his groin—that he halted her exploration a second time, holding her wrist between his thumb and index finger.

 

"That isn't fair," she insisted, whining like a child denied her favorite toy.

 

When he said nothing, she dropped all flirtatious pretense, scanning her mind for a reason that might possess a man to get on his knees time and again, yet never actually finish the job.

 

"If it's your size you're insecure about-"

 

Jon stopped her speculation cold with a snort, batting her hand away before bending to retrieve his shirt again.

 

"What is it, then?"

 

He said nothing.

 

"Tell me why you won't let me touch you," she demanded.

 

The king shifted, angling himself enough to meet her eyes.

 

"What's my name?"

 

She folded her arms over her breasts. "Jon Snow," she answered.

 

"Why is my surname Snow?"

 

His strange behavior had stunned her to silence.

 

"Say it."

 

"Because you're a bastard," she flatly stated, blinking away the desire to roll her eyes. As if she cared a lick what his surname was or who sired him.

 

"Every time I get your clothes off, all I can think is, _'What if I get her pregnant?'_ ," he cringed. "If you had a child, it would be just another bastard named 'Snow'."

 

 _Our child_ , she inwardly scoffed. _It would be_ our _child_.

 

"What of it?" she asked defensively.

 

"It's not a good life for a child."

 

" _You're_ a Snow," she reminded him. "And you're a better man than most."

 

He shrugged off the compliment. "It wasn't easy for me."

 

"Not every highborn child has it easy, _either_ ," she countered, feeling the sting of his comment personally. "Must I remind you that I am the rightful queen, Jon? If we had a child, I could easily legitimize it."

 

A brief flicker of _something—_ hope, perhaps—flashed in his eyes, but just as she recognized it for what it was, it was gone. _Why am I even arguing this?_ she wondered. _I'm as barren as the Red Waste._

 

A sudden disappointment gripped her heart, twisting it in her chest. The pain of it wrenched her face into a scowl. The act had gone on too long, already. Dany opened her mouth to finally confess. "Nevermind it, Jon," she hesitated. "The truth is, I can't-"

 

"If you _truly_ wanted more," he swiftly interrupted, "There is... one way."

 

Dany felt an immediate relief that he'd stopped her from spilling her darkest secret, otherwise staining whatever had been blooming between them.

 

"I do want more."

 

Looking suddenly sheepish, Jon cast his gaze from hers. "For many years, I was a brother of the Night's Watch," he began. "Part of the vow is that we ' _shall take no wives and father no children_ '."

 

Suspecting that his scars had something to do with his past life in this mysterious military order, the queen adjusted, slipping her arms just underneath his and locking her hands over his heart.

 

"There was a brothel a few miles south of Castle Black," he continued, perhaps inadvertently providing an answer on where he learned that _thing_ he did with his tongue. "And as you might've guessed, the resourceful men of the Night's Watch found a loop-hole of sorts."

 

"I won't drink moon tea."

 

"No," he sourly laughed. "And I'd never ask you to. Not even if-" he cleared his throat.

 

"What's the loop-hole, then?"

 

"I can't _believe_ I'm about to suggest this..." Jon poked the corner of his mouth with his tongue, further delaying himself.

 

"Tell me."

 

"There's no delicate way to say it," he sighed. _Oh, this has got to be good_ , she thought as the blush on his face spread down his neck. "There's no risk of a child if I took your, uh," he hesitated, " _Other_ entrance."

 

"My what?"

 

Jon cringed, lifting his hand to rub his forehead. "The... _other_ hole."

 

"My mouth?"

 

This time he laughed. "Well, no. I mean, _yes_. But in _this_ instance, no..."

 

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

 

Untucking the hair from behind his ear and shaking it out until it covered his face, Jon clarified, "Your _ass_ , Dany."

 

Her eyes went wide in understanding before she sputtered with laughter. After all this time, Jon Snow could _finally_ tell a joke.

 

Turning away from her, his cheeks turned so red they looked almost purple. "Forget I ever mentioned it," he begged. " _Please_."

 

"Why? It was only a joke."

 

Jon frowned.

 

"You _can't_ be serious."

 

A slight pout seemed to confirm his sincerity.

 

"I'd die, surely," she insisted.

 

His mouth twitched with a hint of a smirk. "You wouldn't die."

 

"There's no way it could fit."

 

"How can you be so sure?" he raised an eyebrow. "You haven't even seen my-"

 

" _No_ ," she interrupted. "Since you stopped me at every turn. But I don't need to have seen your cock to be certain it's too large for... _that_ ," she insisted, still trying to decide whether she was horrified or intrigued.

 

"You work up to it."

 

"How?"

 

From a fist, Jon retracted one finger, then two.

 

Something about it made her flinch. "Women can't possibly enjoy that."

 

"You think I'd ask it of you—of a _queen—_ if women found no pleasure in it?"

 

Considering Jon had scarcely let her so much as touch his body in their time together, she found herself at least a _little_ curious. After all, the man had worked wonders with his mouth...

 

"How many women have you done this to?"

 

"None," he admitted. "You'd be my first."

 

She bit her lip, considering. There were certain things she didn't feel comfortable in asking—is it gross? Smelly? What if she broke wind? Gods, no wonder his face is red as a tomato. The longer she pondered the logistics, the more heat pooled in her cheeks, too.

 

"You're awful quiet."

 

"I'm thinking."

 

Sheepishly, he nodded.

 

When a few more moments of quiet indecision passed between them, she realized she'd left Jon anxious. Though—she still had no answer to give.

 

"We should probably see our Hands off before their journey."

 

"Aye," Jon said, his voice cracking a bit.

 

Dany put a hand on his knee in reassurance. "This isn't me saying no."

 

"It isn't?"

 

"I'll have an answer for you tonight."

 

.  .  .

 

Making no true strides in her decision making, Daenerys sought out another old friend. Missandei, her _closest_ friend, had been too true and good for the world—and so, in Yara Greyjoy's absence, she delegated her more lascivious conversation material to the young woman she'd help relieve from the Dosh Khaleen and its many miserable old crones.

 

Since her rescue, Ornela had endured something of a sexual awakening—pursuing men and women of her own accord, something she had undoubtedly lost all autonomy to do until the queen helped grant her a second chance at life.

 

Seeking advice, Daenerys took a horse to the far side of the island, where the Lhazareen girl took a break from helping to till the fields to greet her queen.

 

Over an authentic Dothraki meal of honey-roasted horse with peppers, the pair caught up, Dany only picking at her food. Ornela had been ecstatic to hear of the queen's personal account of her victorious battle that the locals had lovingly referred to as the ' _loot train attack_ '—though she, herself, preferred to call it the ' _field of fire_ '.

 

Being a smart girl, Ornela knew the queen was a busy woman, likely too busy to go gallivanting around Dragonstone without ulterior motive.

 

The moment Dany admitted she sought from the girl some _very_ particular advice, Ornela burst into laughter.

 

"You once told me," she said in her native tongue, "That you'd given yourself to Daario in every way a woman could."

 

"You must forgive me for being unaware that women used... _that_ orifice in such a way."

 

When her friend guessed her target correctly—the comely, brooding king who wore _far_ too many layers despite being so far south—she clapped her hands together in approval, happily sending Dany off with tips and even _tools—_ such as a small animal bladder with which to flush her bowels, typically only used by medicine women.

 

"Just in case," Ornela had assured her with a wink.

 

The pair shared a tight embrace before Daenerys mounted her horse and set off for her next destination—the dragonglass caves. Inside which, she knew Jon had been mining.

 

Rather than bother finding him, herself, she sent one of her men inside to deliver a message on her behalf—a simple 'Yes' should suffice.

 

.  .  .

  


Since she'd given her answer so early in the day, the king knew to await Daenerys in his quarters that evening.

 

Even so, she hadn't expected to find he'd already set the mood—his room a glow of diffused orange light, compliments of the rose-scented candles lining his desk and wardrobe. Casting shadows on his wall were three small bottles of oil. _That sure is a lot_ , she noted with a nervous gulp.

 

After locking the door behind her, Jon stepped forward, shirtless with his hair already unbound, stripping off her robe and hanging it on his bedpost.

 

True to form, he kept quiet, choosing to speak through actions rather than words. With both hands, he cupped her jaw, placing a tender kiss right on her lips. His skin smelled clean, though there remained a familiar note of leather under the soap. Jon shifted his weight between his feet, inhaling sharply as he ran a tongue along her bottom lip. Hands dragged down her body as they kissed, deftly caressing her as he unfastened every last button and clasp.

 

Finally, the silk went fluttering to her feet. Jon moved from her lips to her neck, from her neck to her breasts, dragging his teeth over her freshly-washed skin—as if testing the fortitude of her already-wobbling knees.

 

His name was a plea on her lips, " _Jon_..."

 

"Dany," his breath spread like honey over her skin. Her eyes disappeared behind her lids as he distracted her with his wet lips and tongue. When he pushed her backward toward his bed, she protested.

 

"No."

 

The king stopped cold—colder than she'd intended. Even taking a step away from her.

 

"No more until I see you naked."

 

Clearly taken aback, Jon snickered. Never had Dany wanted to see a cock so badly. The absurd realization almost making her snicker, too, at least until Jon began untying the laces of his trousers. She held her breath as the fabric pooled at his ankles.

 

 _Finally_.

 

While the queen _had_ expected his lower half to match the top in sheer perfection, the confirmation left her breathless all the same. Each muscle in his chest seemed to flex with every breath, her eyes snagging on all seven of his scars as they roamed his body, admiring his thick, strong legs and even his well-kept feet. She took in every inch, especially the many that hung rock-solid in a nest of raven curls between his thighs.

 

_Gods._

 

"Get on the bed," she commanded the moment she could speak.

 

The king did as she said. For once.

 

She was already on top of him the instant he laid down, pressing kisses all over his body and taking tastes of him wherever she pleased. Her eagerness made him chuckle—either that, or he was ticklish. In truth, she couldn't tell which.

 

Dany didn't get very far before he stopped her with both hands, literally holding her at bay before she reached his groin.

 

"Why don't we switch?"

 

"You don't like your cock sucked?"

 

"It's... not that," he flushed. "It's just that I'll need you slick as a baby seal."

 

"A _what?_ "

 

Jon cringed. "A figure of speech. A stupid one at that. Words have never been my strength..."

 

"So I've noticed," she smirked. "Though if that's your concern, there's no need to worry."

 

"No?"

 

After slipping a hand between her legs, she produced a palm smeared in her own arousal—she had been nearly soaked from anticipation alone, well before even setting foot in his room.

 

Jon's eyes went wide at the sight, and even wider as she wrapped her warm, wet hand around his shaft. She held his gaze as she gave a several long, slow strokes—though after another few, he had trouble maintaining it. Keeping the rhythm, Dany leaned forward to place kisses along his belly, rising and falling with every deep breath. She bumped his cock with her breasts, teasing the surrounding area with her soft skin.

 

Just after she increased the speed for his benefit, she took him into her mouth, dialing it back down to a slow yet gradual rise that left him writhing beneath her.

 

Deciding that toying with the man was too cruel—especially one with such a charitable tongue, himself—Daenerys finally found the right combination of friction and speed to send him over the edge. Jon let out a groan of relief as his body drew taut, his cock flooding her mouth in his seed. Though they had planned on other things that night—things she had prepared for—she couldn't quite say she was disappointed in the turn of events. She had dreamt, more often than she was willing to admit, of taking him in her mouth, anyway.

 

Dany lazily sucked him until he pushed her away—the sensitivity proving too much for him.

 

Grinning, she slithered up his body and plopped beside him, folding her arms behind her head, expecting to watch him fade into sleep.

 

But the glint in his eye said he was just getting started.

 

Jon hopped off of the bed to grab some towels and his collection of oils before returning to her. The nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach having suddenly reformed. Excited, he climbed between her legs, pulling them apart to investigate his effect on her.

 

"I told you," she said. "Plenty slick."

 

"Not quite..."

 

She frowned. The entire time she'd sucked him off she'd felt a steady trickling between her legs.

 

"I can do better," he said with confidence.

 

Dipping his head between her thighs, he dragged only the very tip of his tongue through the crease of her inner and outer lips, switching to an impossibly light dabbing when he reached her most sensitive spots. His teasing incited a madness within her, contorting her body into shapes she didn't know she could make.

 

Once Jon switched back to the flat of his tongue—licking her cunt liberally enough that he'd come close to a second target—she remembered his request. The one she'd agreed to.

 

Feeling bold, Dany lifted her leg, slipping a hand underneath her knee to help hold it up.

 

The king quickly took the hint, redirecting his attentions a few inches lower, wagging his tongue back and forth over her anus. Dany let go of a strange series of pitiful cries, surprised at how much she enjoyed it.

 

Just as she began losing herself in the sensation, he backed off. Swirling his fingers in her now abundant wetness, Jon met her gaze.

 

"Ready?"

 

Meekly, she nodded.

 

"Keep your muscles relaxed."

 

He massaged the surrounding muscles with his fingertips to loosen them. Though he'd done a good job, nothing could quite compare her for the moment his finger breached her—a feeling stranger than she could've expected, but not at all unpleasant.

 

Jon worked his finger in and out of her very slowly, twisting and curling it to gauge her reactions, repeating whatever action made her moan or whine. And just when she least expected it, he slipped inside of her a second finger, the ring of muscles drawing tighter around the intrusion.

 

This time, she adjusted to the size quickly by rocking against him, surprising even herself with her enthusiasm—positive it was the wettest she had ever been.

 

" _More_ ," she groaned, though she could scarcely recognize the voice as her own.

 

Much too soon, his fingers slipped out of her, leaving her with an uncomfortable emptiness she couldn't ignore. Though it didn't take long for Jon to prepare for the main event—already having tucked a towel underneath her bottom—he popped the cork from a bottle of olive oil and got to work.

 

Dany propped herself up on her elbows to watch as he lubricated his cock, stroking it several times before smearing a generous amount of oil between her cheeks.

 

"Are you ready?"

 

Suddenly feeling like a clueless maid again, she nodded.

 

"It might hurt a little at first, but it will pass."

 

She gave another nod in understanding.

 

After wiping his hands clean, Jon pushed her thighs toward her chest, spreading her legs open. He leaned down to give her a reassuring kiss before returning to his knees and shifting his focus on the inevitable penetration.

 

Jon pressed the head of his cock against the small hole, which didn't seem to budge at all—it even slipped across her skin as he tried to enter her.

 

"Relax," he whispered. "Don't clench."

 

Daenerys exhaled, trying to will her body to cooperate.

 

And before she knew it, the fat head of his cock pushed right through, a blunt pain that made her break into a cold sweat. _It's supposed to hurt at first_ , she reminded herself. _It will pass_.

 

Even the king looked to be in pain, his face scrunched up and teeth driven straight into his bottom lip. She endured every subsequent inch as Jon filled her up, her desire that he speed up stronger than any desire that he stop.

 

Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pulled him into her, the pair groaning in unison as he stuffed her straight to the hilt. His lips on hers helped indirectly soothe the burn of his every thrust. The underlying possession of each kiss fogged her senses, overwhelming her from the inside out.

 

She broke away from his mouth, searching his eyes as his movement stilled—finding so much more than lust peering back at her. In that moment, he had become part of her, inhabiting and sharing her body in a way no one else ever had. It seemed as though the powerful realization had struck him, too, renewing his vigor. His body weight collapsed on top of her as he rolled his hips, his pelvis butting against her, taking full advantage of every last thrust until his seed burst deep within her—her ring of muscles still pulled taut around his softening erection.

 

Reluctantly, Jon lifted himself off of her, making her gasp as his oiled cock slipped out of her. Dany pressed a hand into her stomach, somehow feeling too empty now, without him.

 

.  .  .

 

From the painted table, the queen gazed out to sea. Combined with the fog, it was a nice canvas upon which she replayed scenes from the past two nights in her mind's eye. Every time she took a seat, her backside reminded her of the many positions in which Jon had taken her, and already, her sore body longed for more.

 

The small council meeting stretched on too long already. Tyrion and Ser Davos had returned in one piece, even with a strange blacksmith boy in tow—marking their small mission a resounding success.

 

This meant she'd lose Jon next, and for however long, she didn't know. It's not that she didn't want to speak with Tyrion, but that she had weeks alone with him without distraction. But _Jon—_ Jon would be gone by the morning. And she was itching to make love with him as many times as he'd sacrifice his sleep for.

 

And so, the hints she'd dropped that she'd like to retire for the night—along with the others—were far from subtle. Her Hand, though, had stayed behind as if in wait.

 

"I was hoping I might have a word," he finally said as the room had nearly emptied.

 

"Sure."

 

"Alone."

 

The dwarf tilted his head in Jon's direction, to which the northerner politely smiled.

 

"Your Grace," he bowed, casting a quick, suggestive glance in her direction.

 

After a beat, Daenerys coolly asked, "What is it, my lord?"

 

"Regarding my trip to King's Landing," he began, his face lined with worry. "Had it not been for that blacksmith boy, I..."

 

At his pause, the queen's impatience was palpable. "...You?"

 

"It would've been over for me," he confessed. "My sister... is a cruel woman. I shudder to imagine what she might've done to me."

 

"Yet here you are," she gestured. "Safe and sound."

 

Tyrion cleared his throat, "Not just me, Your Grace. Everything we've worked for could be lost in the blink of an eye. If anything should happen to you-"

 

"And what, you're afraid that she'll capture me? Torture me?"

 

Tyrion gave a weak nod.

 

"Do you not hear my children?"

 

Somewhere overhead and swooping through the clouds, her dragons sang.

 

"With all due respect, dragons do not make a ruler infallible. If they did, you would not be the last of your kind."

 

"What _exactly_ are you getting at, Tyrion? That you'd like me to sit out the war like so many of the cowardly kings before me?"

 

"I believe in you, very much. And the world you want to build."

 

She laughed, "I know there's a ' _but_ ' coming, so just get on with it."

 

"The world you want to build doesn't get built all at once. Probably not in a single lifetime. How do we ensure your vision endures? After you break the wheel, how do we make sure it stays broken?"

 

"You want to know who sits on the iron throne after I'm dead, is that it?"

 

"You say you can't have children. But there are other ways of choosing a successor. The Night's Watch has one method. The Ironborn, for all their many flaws, have another-"

 

"We will discuss the succession after I wear the crown."

 

Tyrion did not cower. "Your Grace, I saw hundreds of arrows fly towards you when you fought on the Blackwater Rush, and I saw hundreds of arrows miss. But any one of them could've found your heart and ended you-"

 

"You've been thinking about my death quite a bit, haven't you?" she shot back, pausing for an icy glare. "Is this one of the items you discussed with your brother in King's Landing?"

 

This time, the man kept his smart mouth shut.

 

"We will discuss the succession _after_ I wear the crown."

 

Robbing him of the opportunity to challenge her, she stormed off.

 

.  .  .

 

She had gone to his door that night in a huff, hoping he'd fuck her into a stupor—relieving her mind of the bleak reality that had faced not only them, but everyone.

 

Before he could even twist the lock behind her, she'd pushed him against the wood, lifting herself up onto her toes to reach his mouth. He kissed her in earnest, void of any heat or hunger.

 

When she pulled away, she found a pair of dark, dysphoric eyes—and within them, a question. He didn't bother to ask it with words, rather, cradling her waist delicately, pulling her back into his lips as if drawing out the truth. She melted into his arms.

 

He swept her up into and carried her to his bed, kissing every newly-exposed inch of skin as he worked her out of her stubborn dress.

 

This time, he didn't delay—his trousers were off and on the floor before she could even process that his handy bottles of oil were missing.

 

 _No_ , she thought as he climbed atop her. _I'm not ready_.

 

"Jon," she gasped, and it was all she could say as he rubbed a hand over her mound before bringing it to his lips and sucking her arousal from his fingers.

 

Before she knew it, he'd plunged himself straight into her cunt, the shock of it making her wail. His thrusts were slow and skillful as he stretched her. Soon, his movements grew as possessive as his claim on her mouth. He kissed her so hard she could barely breathe, leaving her dizzy and light-headed.

 

Afraid to claw the bedsheets to shreds, she dug her nails into his back for some semblance of stability amidst every rut of his rigid cock. The muscles in his back flexed as she marked him up, her way of claiming him as he had claimed her.

 

High on each breath he'd exhaled, she'd endured the final stretch of his assault, cock butting up against her barren womb before releasing the sudden surge of his seed—all fear of fathering a bastard seemingly abandoned.

 

"Funny you should change your mind," she breathed, pulling his tired body flush against hers, keeping him tucked safely inside. "The night before going off to get yourself killed."

 

Jon only grunted in amusement as she stroked his now-damp hair.

 

Though it sounded like a joke, she really wanted to know what had changed. She could pinpoint nothing from her perspective.

 

"What changed?"

 

"I overheard you."

 

"When?"

 

"With Tyrion."

 

Her stomach dropped—of course that's all it was. For a moment, his change of heart sparked a flicker of hope in hers... but it was just that he knew the truth now. The disheartening truth that any sort of sex between them would never yield a child.

 

Jon lifted himself up enough to meet her eyes, asking with a whisper, "Why would you let me do that to you?"

 

Her throat constricted, preventing any answer at all.

 

"Tell me, Dany."

 

"Are you disappointed I didn't tell you?"

 

"At first I was upset that you'd choose to keep it from me," he admitted. "But it didn't take long to understand why."

 

"It didn't?"

 

"Because you don't believe it, either."

 

 _The audacity_ , she thought and bit back a mocking laugh, wiping away her sudden tears.

 

"Do you take me for a liar?"

 

"No. I take whoever told you that nonsense for a liar."

 

Still wallowing in her own self-pity, the sudden cockiness in his tone had nearly been lost on her. _Nearly_.

 

"You don't believe it?" she asked, pausing to consider, "Now you _want_ a bastard?"

 

"Of course not."

 

Still stuffed inside her, his cock grew stiff as they stared into each others' eyes, both searching for a truth. Her heart skipped a beat, afraid to jump to any rash conclusions.

 

Queens didn't marry for love.

 

When Jon started rocking his hips into her again, he grinned. "How about this," he said, dipping his head to whisper in her ear. "I prove you wrong, you let me take your ass again."

 

"Oh, Jon," she moaned, stroking the back of his neck. "Assuming you come back to me, you won't have to wait longer than nine months for that."

 

At the permissive comment, she felt his cock jerk inside of her, his body falling into an exquisite rhythm as his smooth, warm skin slid against hers.

  
"I _will_ come back to you," he promised. "To the both of you."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding whether or not Daario ever used Dany's back door, I implemented [my personal theory](https://tomakeitbeautifultolive.tumblr.com/post/182621526108/that-night-daario-had-her-every-way-a-man-can-have).
> 
> Random explanation no one needed or asked for: If you thought the "I'd die" comment was weird, it's inspired by a rumored reaction from Marilyn Monroe when offered to engage in a taboo sex act (not _this_ one, exactly, but close enough).


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